The Savage Generation
by DolceBrio
Summary: When you have power to control such powerful beasts, the temptation to abuse it is oh so seductive. And even if you don't, others will, and then all you can do is watch your idyllic lifestyle crumble around you. Cheers. AU Rating is subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**The Savage Generation **

a hunger games-esque fic

_Corruption; it was inevitable.  
__When you have power to control such powerful beasts, the temptation to abuse it is oh so seductive.  
__And when some people gave in, __the rest of the world was there to watch their own idyllic lifestyles crash and burn._

_And so began the _Savage Generation_._

_**disclaimer;; **original _hunger games_ ideas belong to Suzanne Collins, I just borrowed/modified a few things.  
Pokemon isn't mine either._

**AN: Just as a note, most of this chapter is filler/background info, and I don't really like how it sounds much so I'm probably going to rewrite it. If you don't want to read through all the background stuff, I'd skip to the next chapter C:**_  
_

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 1 ▬▬

**And So it Begins**

* * *

The finch tattoo on my shoulder makes me different. Different from the rest of the people in Pallet Town. Only one hundred other people from all the four regions have the exact same one. Some of us wear it as a curse, while others as a blessing. Either way, we are all Marked, regardless of how we feel about it.

I call it the Mark of death. What else do you call it when you, all year-round, you see other Marked children forced to murder each other on television? My mother always tries to tell me otherwise. She says that if a Rocket member were to hear, she wouldn't know what they would do to me. The only thing that makes me do is wish that Gran and Gramps were alive. They both died before I was born, but they left me a journal, where they wrote about all the adventures they'd had, even though it stops when they turned eighteen, because that's when The Savage Revolution happened. Inside a shoebox on my shelf is a red cap with a Pokeball on it that also used to be Gran's. In her journal says that it's been passed down in our family for generations, and that I should keep it hidden always, because once upon a time, it belonged to someone who stood up to the leader of the Rocket Corporation.

I wonder how someone like her could possibly be my rigid, impassive Mum's mother.

Said mother pokes me in the ribs sharply as I begin to fidget.

"Hold still, I'm almost done," she snaps, and I roll my eyes. She's pinning up the final locks of my hair, adding them to the messy bun that she's been working on for the past half an hour. I'm impatient, but I do admit that it looks quite elegant. "There. You can go now. And take the coins on the counter, we need more water."

Grabbing the money, I am immediately out the door. I hear her calling behind me telling me not to mess up my hair, and to be home before the Cotillion begins.

It's a cruel joke, to call it a Cotillion. Some of the other kids told me stories about how, before, cotillions used to be beautiful black tie events held by the upper class, where their kids would be introduced into society. Now, every four years, they are held to decide each child's future. Those that are called say good-bye to their parents, probably for the last time. It's usually a way for them to recruit and induct new Rocket members, but sometimes, people are taken away to the mines, or as maids when a wealthy family is in short supply.

In the last Cotillion, my brother was sorted to become a Rocket Corp. member. Mum and Dad still think about him; I know because I've seen them up at night looking at the picture of him we have hanging above on our kitchen wall. It's one of the only six pictures we could spare money to have taken, one for each person in our family.

Outside, the weather is pleasantly warm, not scorching as it had been for the past few days. It's a good thing, too, because the heat is making our town's water supplies dry up, and most of the people can't afford to buy fresh clean water more than once a week. A little girl from the family next door was buried yesterday because she got sick after trying to drink some from the river. Which is illegal in the first place, because we're not supposed to go past the high, electric fence that encircles the entire town.

But a lot of kids do anyways because the fences haven't been inspected in so long, they're nearly falling apart. Probably because Pallet Town doesn't have a Gym Leader, which makes our town pretty lawless. And, because outside the fence, it's grassy, and _Pokemon _live there. We're not allowed to have any Pokemon - only the very wealthy or the Rocket members are allowed to have them. It's not like we even have the money for PokeBalls to keep them in, anyways. So kids just crowd around to watch when someone spots a Poochyena or something run by.

Gran said that once upon a time, anyone could catch and train Pokemon and go on adventures after they turned ten. There was actually a Professor who used to live here, and he'd hand out Pokemon for children to start with, but he's long gone now. She says he was one of the first people executed after The Savage Revolution, when the Rocket Corp. united with the Elite Fours in all the regions and the Gym Leaders to seize power from the Pokemon League Committee when the four regions were locked in a war with each other. She says that the system they put in place isn't very different than it was before, but it's awfully corrupt. There are the Gym Leaders - I don't know why we call them that, but we do - who control the town or city they're located in. The Gym Leaders answer to the Elite Four of the region, and then there's the Rocket President at the head of all four regions.

"Nice hair," someone chuckles sarcastically, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I know who it is without needing to turn around. Of course it's Declan, the other Marked person in Pallet. At fifteen, he's a year older than I am - even though he usually doesn't act it - but we're each other's friend, because most of the townspeople never actually talk to us. They either pity us, or are ashamed of themselves, because the whole town is supposed to vote about a kid being Marked.

"Yeah, I'm looking great for a person about to die," I drawl.

He makes a face but doesn't object, and looks like he's deep in thought. I take the moment to look him up and down. His mother's gotten to him, too, and he's dressed in a relatively clean white shirt and a black suit jacket that's just a bit too big on him to be his own. When my gaze slides back to his face, he's looking at me cheekily. "See something you like?" he teases, and I groan, half-heartedly swatting his arm.

Declan pretends to look injured, then grins and shakes his head. He walks with me to the PokeMart and we're quiet for a little while.

"Do you ... do you ever feel like you hate everybody in this Arceus-damned town? For going along with this? For choosing us?" The question seems sudden and out of the blue, but his hazel eyes were unnaturally serious and I take a step back.

"...It had to be someone," I say hesitantly. The question is carrying more weight than I want to think about, and it's a lot easier sometimes to just play the heroism card. And maybe that would earn me some points with whatever gods there were. Selfless thinking and all that.

A sigh; wrong answer. Avoiding eye contact; it was a Double Jeopardy question, double the points lost.

"I - sometimes I throw rocks through their windows but I don't take anything so that confuses the hell out of them," I admit, and I see the corners of his mouth curling up into a smile.

The man behind the counter regards me with quiet indifference as I pay. I see him eye the water longingly, though. His frame is gaunt, and his skin is dehydrated. Declan catches my eye and and I can tell that he noticed the same things.

An alarm goes off, sudden and sharp. At the door, a ragged woman is trying to run, but her round stomach is a hindrance. The Rocket guards inside the Mart grab her without much effort before she can leave, and the bump that I thought was a child turns out to be two jugs of water that she was trying to smuggle out. She doesn't even have the energy to struggle as they lead her out. The store is silent for a moment; everyone knows where she is headed, and the stocks are the kind of place that takes people a minute to fully absorb its gravity when it's mentioned.

Declan is particularly affected by the word. His mother was taken to the stockades for trying to smuggle a loaf of bread out of the house of a Rocket general, where she worked as a maid. When a guard brought her back, she'd been beaten within inches of her life.

Someone in the PokeMart chokes out a sob, breaking the silence. "Oh Candace, she has a little boy at home," she whispered between tears. Other people nod, and they offer their two-Poke about how she was a great friend, and how worried they are about her.

Declan and I slip away. The thing about being Marked is, when people don't talk to us, it keeps us from really caring about any of them.

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My mother fussed over me the moment I returned home.

"Well, at least I get to die looking pretty," I say snarkily. She fixes me with a stern look, and I regret saying anything because I can see that her eyes are red and puffy. Selfishly, I think that it's _me_ who's Marked, not her, but I know the toll it's taking on her mental state; Declan has told me about the conversations he's heard his parents have when they thought he was asleep. On one hand, they're anguished because their child is being taken away to die, but on the other, it means more resources for them, and a higher chance that they'll be able to provide for their family.

A loud, metallic screech filled the air. The signature sound of the Rocket Executive's giant metal bird, Skarmory. It brings our conversation to a halt and anything we were going to say is forgotten.

It's eerily calm as we leave for the town square. We meet up with one of my mother's friends along the way, walking with her sixteen year-old daughter. She just missed the cutoff date for the Cotillion four years ago, the age window being from thirteen to sixteen.

Her mother turned to me, and for the first time since I was Marked, said, "I'm really sorry."

"A little late for that," I answer bitterly; she's not my mother, I don't have any qualms with saddling her with guilt.

She doesn't say anything after that, and we walk in silence until we join up with the rest of Pallet Town. The girls and guys are split into two separate lines. Mum hugs me, and begins to tear up again, but doesn't actually cry. I guess six years of knowing that your daughter is going to die, and watching other Marked children die, steels you for the actual moment. I hug her back, then step into line.

"Adrian, Macy," a man calls. Everything from the impatient tapping of his black-gloved fingers to the droning tone of voice says that he is completely uninterested in what he's doing. Macy is one of the younger girls, and she steps forward, distinctive fire-red ringlets and green eyes wide with fear. "Maid for the Sorenson household."

Pallet Town claps, because if we don't, the guards watching will make them pay for it later. Some of the more trigger happy ones have actually let their Houndooms maul the offender while the Cotillion was going on.

A job as a maid can be a decent one, a life of serving the upper class, who live in elegant cities, unlike the slums here, but only if the people of the household are decent people. A man with a Flygon gestures her over, to climb aboard the Pokemon. I assume that the Sorensons are fairly kind, because most of the time, they simply send a letter with an address, and leave you to scrape together the money needed to get there.

The Flygon turns its head towards me suddenly, and it emits an eerily beautiful note, craning its head as if it's trying to reach me. But its rider simply flicks a riding crop across its hide, and its tail thrashes twice with the sting of the blow before settling. He climbs onto her scaly shoulders, helps Macy on, and then they're rising up into the air, leaving.

"Conway, Jasper. The mines." I have to wince sympathetically at that one. The mines on Dewford Island are notorious for being treacherous. It's a rumor that sometimes, desperate people will actually sell their underage children to work in the mines, for money, because they're always needing more workers.

"Dawson, Brin. Rocket member." Most of the children are assigned during Cotillion to work for the Rocket Corporation if they're fit enough, smart enough, or have some kind of talent. They'll attend Rocket Academy, the only schooling any of us would ever get. Most will probably work at a grunt level, probably doing factory work, or any other hard labor they need done. Those lucky enough to rise up higher in the ranks are given the means to catch their own Pokemon.

"Kessler, Roman. Rocket member."

"Lee, Sosie. Rocket member."

"McKenna, Breeze. Rocket member."

"McKenna, Bennet. Rocket member."

"Ross, Malachy. The mines."

"Rover, Dahlia. The mines."

"Wei, Zaniel. Rocket member."

Only twelve of us between thirteen and sixteen. We're considered the lucky ones here; we've lived this long.

They've saved Declan and I for last, because we're the real show. The two kids who, until the Games are over, will have their lives televised nationswide, as we live in an island region artificially engineered to look exactly like Kanto, the birthplace of the Rocket Corp. A land full of wild Pokemon. Letting everyone watch as we and 98 others struggle to survive. Letting everyone watch as we kill to survive. Because killing is just part of the sport.

For each Darwin Game, the finch tattoo on the hundred participants is slightly different. A hundred of us have the exact same ones right now. After the Games are over, only a maximum of four people will. Each will be from a different region. The artificial region won't let us leave until there are only, at most, four people left. Those are the rules.

The finch tattoo is no longer just a mark.

Declan and I catch each other's eyes as the man reads out the final two names.

"Amethyst, Shea. Oak, Declan. Pallet Town's tributes to the 24th Darwin Games!"

Deafening applause.

* * *

**AN;; ** _yeah, a little bit wordy/rigid/confusing to read but I tried to cram all the background info into just this chapter, so bear with me C:_

_**What do y'all think?**_


	2. Chapter 2

**The Savage Generation**

a hunger games-esque fic

_Corruption; it was inevitable.  
__When you have power to control such powerful beasts, the temptation to abuse it is oh so seductive.  
__And when some people gave in, __the rest of the world was there to watch their own idyllic lifestyles crash and burn._

_And so began the _Savage Generation_._

_**disclaimer;; **original _hunger games_ ideas belong to Suzanne Collins, I just borrowed/modified a few things.  
__Pokemon isn't mine either._

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 2 ▬▬

**The Die is Cast**

* * *

We're clearly capable of getting to Viridian more quickly on the back of a salamance, or any flying Pokemon, really. But course, it's a train that takes us to the Rocket Empire capital, because it gives them a chance to parade us around the region.

The train is luxuriously furnished, and kept moving by the various fire Pokemon that man the coals. The train's route runs through all the cities of Kanto, picking up all the other Marks at the their stations. Each pair of marks has three of the train's cars to themselves, and in the center of the train is a mess hall, a library, a couple of classrooms, and a lounge, where the supervisors encourage us to hang out together.

"Aren't they afraid we're going to decide to hate each other before the Games even start?" I ask Declan as we head to dinner. We're one of the first Marked pairs on board, with only the Cinnabar Island duo having arrived before us.

"I think that's the point," he answers grimly, frowning.

It's linguini with a type of seafood I've never seen before, and some sort of roasted bird. The bird is actually being freshly made right in front of us, and the smell is incredible. In Pallet Town, venison was expensive because the only vendors of it were the Rocket Corp members who were certified to carry guns.

"Is that a pidgey?" I ask. The only creatures we attracted in Pallet were either pidgey or rattata.

The chef looks affronted, and his mustache seems to curl with distaste along with mouth. "The thought! I would never serve such a coarse and common meal. How barbaric! No mademoiselle, this is a premium, Viridian-bred duck."

I have no mental pictures for what he's talking about, but I don't want to ask either. It must've shown on my face because he takes pity on me and explains,

"Farmers wanted something that didn't, or couldn't, fight back so effectively when they were being caught, so Rocket scientists began to experiment with breeding powerless creatures specifically for the purpose of being eaten. They were very well-received, but also very expensive because they haven't figured out how to modify their genes so that they can breed, so each animal is individually engineered."

He takes the duck off the spit as he talks, and by the time he's done lecturing me he has cut it into slices and placed a few on a plate for me. I eye it uncertainly for a moment, rather taken aback by the fact that my food has history, that it was bred solely for the purpose of being killed. But it is the first decent meal I've had for several days now and it smells delicious.

Declan takes a plate too so it's comforting to know that if I'm going to hell for it, at least I'll know someone there.

We both pile on the linguini with the unknown seafood as well. "Is that made of genetically engineered meat too?" I ask with apprehension.

To my surprise, it's Declan who answers me, "No, that's corphish." The chef looks at him with some level of appreciation.

"Good eye lad," he praises, "I'm surprised Hoenn Pokemon were incorporated into your school curriculum."

Declan gives him an appropriately grateful smile and we walk away.

"So, you got a pretty great education, huh?" I comment, half teasing, and the other half genuinely wondering how he had known that. Pallet Town's schools got as far as our numbers, and being able to read.

He grins sheepishly. "Well, I read it in one of the books in the library. You should come with me later tonight, it's really helpful."

An uncomfortable emotion twists inside of me, and I don't know what it is, but it makes my throat dry and everything feels sharply real for a moment. When did he go to the library? I knew that we were going to be thrust into a world full of Pokemon in a few days, but it hasn't occurred to me that anyone would be reading up on them. I wonder if the two from Cinnabar have been doing the same - am I the only one who hasn't? And everyone on this train is going to be pitted against each other because only one of us can survive. Is that why Declan didn't tell me about the library earlier?

Then the clarity is gone and the surrealness of the situation is back, but some of that misgiving has taken up residence in the back of my mind. I nod, though, and we head back to our cars.

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By the time Declan knocks on my door, I've changed into the outfit the maids left on my bed. The minute we had gotten on the train, the stylists immediately set themselves to the task of teaching us what good style was. Apparently the holey shirts and the hand-me-downs from Pallet just don't cut it. The word maid already required me to pause to digest it every time I thought about it, so the beautiful fabrics and colors were more than overwhelming.

Today, the note next to the clothes on my bed says that the evening outfit they've picked out is a ruffled spaghetti strap top that tucks into a blush pink chiffon skirt and a pair of heeled gold gladiators.

The name of the shimmery golden shoes makes me laugh; it's so ironically accurate.

"Tres chic," Declan comments, mimicking the high falsetto of one of the stylists, who we nicknamed Cherry, because of her red velvet red hair, impossible garnet eyes, and puffy, ruby-glossed lips.

His dressy, crisply pressed white button-down has the sleeves rolled back casually to his elbows, and untucked over his dark jeans.

"What did you have to do to let your maid leave that untucked?" I ask teasingly.

He feigns a sly and suggestive look. "I showed her some of my less _conventional_ talents." I burst into peals of laughter.

"Oh, and you're really talented?"

"Let's just say she prefers my shirt to be more than just untucked now."

"How _scandy_. A little cliche, though; it's always the maid."

"Hey, it's always the quiet ones who have that inner delcatty."

"I can't believe you just said 'inner cougar'. You know what, I know why it's the maid now. Because you can't be fooling around with the butler, or else everyone would know for sure you batted for the other team."

"Baby, I know that butler's been eyein' me ever since we got here. You're just jealous that _you_ ain't the center of his attention cuz that boy is mighty sexual."

"That was the worst Vermillion accent I've ever heard."

"_Daaarrrrrlin',_ ya know ya want some o' this."_  
_

"Gag me."

"Oh, you go girl, let that inner delcatty out."

"...I just really hate you." I can't stop laughing long enough to think of a comeback. "You should cherish this moment. I'm not speechless often."

He waggles his eyebrows.

I aim a kick at his ankle but he moves away effortlessly, grinning broadly and looking too smug and pleased with himself. With a flourish he opens the library doors that we've arrived at sometime during our banter.

Fluttering my lashes I walk in. The library is enormous; I've never seen so many books before. The entire place is furnished with soft couches and ottomans, and everything has that old book smell. I don't realize that I've simply been standing and gawking until Declan comes up behind me and chuckles, "So, are you planning to stay like that all night?"

He shows me a shelf full of published research on Kanto Pokemon by a man named Professor Oak. Maybe he's the professor my grandparents talked about in the journal. He must've been good, if they killed him, but kept his work. I take a book about Pokemon behaviours and natures, just because I have no clue at all what they are, while Declan snags a book on the top shelf titled The Natural Movesets. One of the pages is dog-eared, probably something he started earlier. We settle down on a cream leather couch.

_After following a group of wild ponyta for several days, it has become evident to me that in the wild, in their own societies, Pokemon will go through a set of bodily actions that vary from species to species. Researchers have long tried to discover why, when trying to understand communication amongst Pokemon, they were unable to interact fully with a wild Pokemon even though we were intricately copying their vocal patterns. Through my field work, I believe I have found the missing component: behaviour._

_Just like with humans, over 93% of communication amongst Pokemon is done through body language and behaviour. As I followed this Ponyta herd, I began to notice specific behavioural rituals that they exhibited. The dominant stallion or mare will rear at an enemy or kick at those who run into it as a way of showing dominance. Often, before a kick, a ponyta will raise its hoof, as a warning and also as preparation. Mothers will comfort their foals with nickers, a soft and low sound. When they came across a lone mare, the herd blew through their nostrils by way of greeting, and sniffing. And by using this method of displaying friendly and unthreatening behaviour, I was able to get close enough to the wild herd to pet them. A young ponyta, I discovered, is the most likely to be won over by such acts - one not yet mature, but older than a foal, which are easily spooked and prefer to stay close to their mother. _

_After several days of repeatedly familiarizing myself to them, I singled out a colt and who was accustomed to wandering away from the herd. The unusual splash of white on his forehead made him easy to recognize. Using the body language I'd learned from watching the herd interact, I showed him I was a friend, not foe, someone to be trusted, not feared or attacked. On April 14th, I convinced him to stand still while I slipped a bridle on him and he let me ride him into the One Island village. I believe this concludes my experiment a success._

The book is a lot more fascinating than I thought it would be, and I am so absorbed I don't notice the library doors swing open, admitting another pair of people. I drop the book in surprise when a voice calls out, "Declan!"

Declan gives them a lazy wave and motions for them to come here. Both of them are gingers, typical of a Cinnabar native. The girl's hazel eyes don't leave Declan even as he introduces her to me as "Tullia", and vice versa. The only time she talks to me is to say absently, "But I prefer Lia." The guy, "Keagan," Declan calls him, gives a noncommittal grunt and just glares at everything hostilely. I don't even crack a ginger joke because the look in his eyes makes me feel like he might actually steal my soul.

I settle back into my seat uncomfortably as Declan and Lia chat idly with each other, with Keagan putting in his two cents occasionally, but it's hard to refocus on my reading. I keep wondering why Declan never bothered to mention that he'd already met the Cinnabar pair already.

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For the next few days we follow the same routine, picking up other pairs as we go. Pewter, Cerulean, Celadon, Saffron, Lavender, Fuchsia, and then Vermillion. There are four Marks from Saffron; when Mom told me the story of how the Rocket Republic rose, she said something about Saffron being the hardest to take down. After Vermillion, each of us is given a pokeball. With twenty people, the lounge is somewhat crowded now as we sit and turn over our pokeballs in our hands. None of us have held a pokeball before, much less a pokeball with a Pokemon inside, except for maybe the Marks from Lavender or Celadon or Fuchsia, who actually volunteered themselves while we watched the Cotillion happen on a widescreen inside the train.

They don't want to give away what Pokemon they have, though, in case someone who sees they have a clear type advantage decides to get rid of them quickly. But the Rockets don't give us a choice.

"We arrive at Viridian in five days," an attendant explains. "During that time, you will attend classes, where our renowned professors will impart to you everything they can about training Pokemon. You will have mock battles, and study the abilities of your Pokemon in that time."

"...I'm pretty sure the battles are going to be pretty real if you're up against them," a girl sitting next to me mutters, looking over at the little group that the volunteering pairs have already made. I follow her gaze and I'm convinced that they're whispering together about the fastest way to get rid of the rest of us. World domination and the works. I bet one of them has a purrloin or a meowth or a glameow. I mentally praise myself on my newfound knowledge of Pokemon species.

The girl laughs, and I realize I've been talking out loud. We introduce ourselves, and as we head to dinner, she invites me to sit with her. For a minute, I hesitate; I've always sat with Declan. Then I think of the library, and Lia and Keagan.

"Sure."

"Great!" she smiles and leads me over to her table, where a dark-haired boy is saying something that makes the other two at the table crack up. All three stare at me curiously as we approach.

The dark-haired boy is the first to break the tension. "Picking up strays now, Mer?"

"Woof," I bark sarcastically, and he laughs, the tense wariness draining out of his tone.

"You're an ass, Zach," Meredith says, giving him a dirty look. He doesn't even bat an eyelash and pulls her into a one-armed hold that she struggles and laughs in. "Well, that's Zach, and that's Donovan, and that's Mitch."

I told them my name, and then tried to remember where they were from. "Wait, don't tell me. Zach and Meredith are from Vermillion. Donovan's ... oh shroomish, uh, Saffron! and Mitch is, um, Cerulean?"

Vermillion's an exporting town; it should be richer than it actually is, but the Rockets tax their exports heavily. Saffron's the town full technology, but except for Pallet, it's one of the worst places to live, because it was completely crushed after the Revolution. Cerulean houses most of the hydroelectric plants that power Kanto.

"Not bad," Mitch chuckles. "And you're from Pallet?"

I nod.

We exchange stories about our hometowns that have us gasping for breath, and then somehow we touch the taboo topic of what's going to happen during the Darwin games. Everyone sobers up instantly; clearly all of us have been attempting the ifIdon'thtinkaboutitIcanpretendit'snothappening policy.

"Um...so what do y'all think Viridian's like?" Meredith asks, after a few awkward beats of silence.

Donovan shrugs and leans his elbows against the table, his eyes tracing the grain of the wood. His eyes. The entire time we were talking, I couldn't help but notice his eyes. They're an unsettling shade of purplish blue. I wonder if he's psychic. A lot of Saffroners are, that's why the Rockets were so determined to break them. Knowing there's someone out there who can bend spoons with their minds, that's a little creepy.

"It used to be green, but now it's just full of skyscrapers and suits," he says after a little while, finally looking up. I want to ask him how he knows that - holy shroomish, is he a psychic! - and I can tell Meredith is coming to the same conclusion, but I don't say anything because maybe he doesn't want to share. Zach, on the other hand, doesn't seem to have any personal boundaries and pounds Donovan on the back.

"Bro, that's so cool, you a psychic? So you read minds and shit? Here, make my fork move." Zach holds up his fork and looks up at the other boy expectantly.

We all inhale sharply in awe; a real psychic? I wish I was from Saffron, then maybe I could be psychic, too.

Donovan raises his eyebrows. "...Well, I've _been_ to Viridian before."

"Like you've been there in your mind? Like a mental projection thing? That's insane!"

"...like my parents ship stuff from Silph Co over to Viridian and sometimes I ride along," he deadpans.

Everyone at the table seems to flush with embarrassment, and when we notice that everyone's feeling as stupid as we are, we're holding our sides laughing.

As we finish dinner and head back to our cars, I feel the warmth of the minimized Pokeball in my jacket pocket. That was something I hadn't expected; the Pokeballs were warm. Did that mean anything? Is a fire-type's Pokeball warm, and an ice-type's cold? Or maybe it's a mammal and that's its natural body heat? Sitting on my bed, I decide I might as well find out now, with no one else around.

It's suddenly all so exciting. A bunch of different species run through my mind. Maybe it is a fire type! Like a growlithe. Or a cyndaquil. They're so cute. Or something with wings! Like a swablu.

Taking a deep breath, I enlarge the Pokeball. The short clip they showed in the lounge said to throw the Pokeball at the ground to trigger the release mechanism, but the book by Professor Oak said that I could also just press the center button. Since I'm afraid I'm going to break the capsule, or look ridiculous throwing it, I just press the button.

In a flash of red, the Pokemon materializes.

Before the red energy even completely disappears, the Mudkip attaches itself to my face tightly with a squeal.

* * *

**Leave a review and tell me what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Savage Generation**

a hunger games-esque fic

_Corruption; it was inevitable.  
__When you have power to control such powerful beasts, the temptation to abuse it is oh so seductive.  
__And when some people gave in, __the rest of the world was there to watch their own idyllic lifestyles crash and burn._

_And so began the _Savage Generation_._

_**disclaimer;; **original _hunger games_ ideas belong to Suzanne Collins, I just borrowed/modified a few things.  
Pokemon isn't mine either._

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 3 ▬▬

**Because Turning Back's not an Option**

* * *

_"Peck!"_

_The girl from Celadon got a swablu, and I'm jealous. I'm also angry, because it's just knocked out my mudkip, who it kept putting to sleep and then bombarded with pecks. Delany, that's her name. She returns her swablu and walks back to her friends with a sneer, to watch as her twin, the guy representing Celadon - Landon, crush Lia's vulpix with his elekid. _

_The ground jerks for a moment under our feet, and our teacher looks awfully relieved as he leads us out of the classroom-car and to the doors that are sliding open. People are waiting outside to greet us._

_"Welcome to Viridian!" they said, and then they chaperone us across busy roads until we come to a spiraling chrome building. I wonder how that kind of architecture is even possible. Then I realize they have Pokemon at their disposal._

_The elevator is made of clear glass so we can see outside. My breath fogs up the surface and I draw a star in the middle. The people in Viridian, I decide, need help. There's a girl with delcatty ears and a minccino tail. I don't understand the appeal, but she's got men eyeing her from afar so I guess there must be some appeal. A man with skin patterned like an electivire is buying a bottle of something clear. It doesn't look like there's anything inside. But then he uncorks it and inhales it; at first I think it's drugs - there was a girl in Pallet who got hooked on heroin by a couple of boys. Another woman comes up to buy some, too, and I get a better view of her. When she inhales, it doesn't look like she's inhaling anything except for a wisp of something that looks a little different than the air around it._

_"Is that woman ... drinking air?" I ask the young boy who's only job is to press the elevator buttons, and the other Marks look at me in confusion._

_The boy follows my gaze and then looks back at me and says matter-of-factly, "Well of course, don't you? With the pollution in the air, we need some fresh, enhanced air once in a while, I can't imagine anyone who lives without it."_

_I exchange a look with Zach, who was grouped into this elevator, too, and he makes a cuckoo sign with his finger._

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The host gives me what he thinks is a friendly smile, but it comes off as something like a grimace. To be fair, it is a little hard to act friendly when everyone clearly notices that you're a legal midget, and aren't making any effort to hide the fact that they think it's hilarious. The fact that he's tucked into a neon pink shirt doesn't help at all.

I wonder if the guy who used to do the interviews quit or something, because I definitely haven't seen the current host before. I shake his hand politely, which I think he appreciates because Landon, who went before me, greeted him by rubbing his head cheerfully and saying it was for good luck. I may be from Pallet, but even I'm pretty sure that's not PC.

We introduce ourselves, even though we already know each others' names.

"So, what's your motivation in this year's Darwin Game?" Jasper Rook asks.

I guess his name doesn't help his case either. Jasper's such a stripper name. I tilt my head, trying to picture Jasper Rook as a stripper. Then I decide that's not the best thing to make a mental picture of.

Remembering that he asked me a question I take a sip of my water to buy me some time. "Um, I guess my family. Maybe if I can win, my parents won't ever have to work again, and maybe then my mum wouldn't miss my dad so much all the time."

_Idon'twanttobehereIdon'twanttobehere._

"Oh, that's touching. If only everyone were so selfless. What do you think of the other contestants?"

I hate the way he says contestants. "They are quite intimidating, but I'm not counting myself out yet."

_They'd probably kill me in the first day._

"Determined! That's a promising trait to have. Everyone loves a good underdog - I hear you're from Pallet? Can you tell me about that?"

It isn't a question I'm expecting, and I cough slightly. Another sip. "Well, you all probably already know it's not the nicest place to live." A few chuckles. "A lot of us are really poor. You know how there's been a bit of a drought? Most of us can't afford to get fresh water more than once a week. There was a couple that lived next to us, with a little daughter. They couldn't afford to buy water, and we couldn't give them all the water that they needed because we barely had enough for ourselves. Their daughter couldn't last until her parents could save up enough money. I watched her parents cry over her without tears, because they didn't have enough water in them to even make any. I watched her suffer of dehydration for days, until she died on their porch in her mum's arms.

"That's the world I lived in. If I win, I want to help those people with the money."

No one's laughing anymore, they've all gone quiet. Then people begin to clap. I search for my interview coach's face. He gives me a thumbs up. I feel like throwing up.

Rook puts on his television-smile and thanks me for talking with him.

* * *

The next day, when we're supposed to be Teleported to the artificial Kanto, affectionately nicknamed Kantwo, Declan storms up to me angrily. The kadabra that's supposed to Teleport me to my designated spot gives us an irritated look, and I jump when I feel a similar strain of irritation in my own head.

"Why the hell did you steal my story?" he snarls, grabbing my arm.

It takes me a moment to realise that he's talking about the interview yesterday. I almost laugh at the irony; that was the only answer that I _hadn't_ practiced with my coach. It was an utter coincidence that that was an answer he was planning on giving. But I'm not sorry.

"I had no idea you were planning to use that _story_," I retorted. "You know what, though? Consider it payback for when you called me a slut who broke your heart in your interview. Touching, Declan, touching."

Wrenching my arm out of his grip, I give him a scornful look, and then I let the kadabra Teleport me.

It's the strangest sensation. The experience sends my nerves tingling but I don't move because we were given a warning to stay absolutely still unless we wanted to run the risk of losing a finger or something.

I like my fingers, I think stupidly.

The spat between Declan and me is still fresh in my mind. It turns out that, just because you've grown up with someone, doesn't mean that they're someone you can trust. The thought is uncomfortable. While I'd seen him as my friend, he didn't see me as his?

My ears pop, and I realise that I'm standing in an old building. I recognize it instantly. It's the one that mum said used to be the professor's laboratory.

There is a noise from upstairs. I let Milo out of his Pokeball nervously; the other Marks were probably arriving at their designated spots, too, and I don't believe for a minute that I'd be lucky enough to be the only one put in Pallet. Milo blinks up at me with his wide eyes and then growls cutely at a potted plant.

"Shhhhh," I try to tell him. The fin on his head twitches back and forth, like he's trying to understand. Then he gives a high-pitched _kip!_ and makes a spectacular leap to balance on my shoulder. Trying not to scream I reach up to yank him off but he just moves to my other shoulder, chewing on a piece of my shirt cheerfully.

I give up with a sigh. In the darkness, I can't see farther than two or three feet from my face, but I'm afraid to turn on the lights. I opt to move around cautiously, running my hands over everything. The minute I move, Milo makes a discontented noise and leaps off, landing on a shelf. Something clatters to the ground and I cringe, waiting. Nothing happens though, so I bend down and slide my hands along the floor. I come across something that feels like a pair of goggles and pick them up off the ground excitedly. Maybe they're night vision goggles!

But they don't do anything other than to make the darkness a sickly orange color, so I take them off and put them in the small backpack that each Mark was given the night before. There's also a strange bottle that I recognize from Oak's journal as a potion. At least, I hope it is.

Milo suddenly darts upstairs. I smother a tiny scream with the palm of my hand and follow him up quickly, hissing at him to come back. If only he could be quiet. But I try and stay as close to him as possible, because if there is another Mark in here, he's the only thing that'll keep me alive.

I can see him pushing his little paws against a bag of generic pokefood in the soft light that streams through a small window above a desk. He looks at me with hopeful dark eyes and I sigh again, striding across the room to open the bag for him. He digs in cheerfully, and I thank Arceus that the bag is made of burlap, so it doesn't make crinkling noises. Once he's finished, I take the bag and roll it up to put it in my backpack, too, and prepare to head out.

A hundred people out there.

The thought makes me stagger and I brace myself against the doorframe. There's a noise downstairs. I hold my breath. Milo tenses, the fin waving wildly. Noises travel through the floorboards.

"There's bound to be plenty of shit we can take from here," someone says.

I vaguely remember the voice. A girl from Goldenrod with a budew.

"Yeah. I hope someone's here, too. I'm itching to get the ball rolling."

It's a male voice that answers. This one's familiar, too. Landon. I nearly groan. Of course, the career Marks would find each other immediately, even if they're from different regions. They can't hurt me when we're in Pallet, but if they know I'm here, too, then they can always wait until whenever I try to leave.

An electric and a grass type, I remember, thinking back to the few days we stayed in real Viridian. I don't have any intentions of finding out whether or not they've learned any electric or grass type moves.

Frantically, I try and open the window, but it's locked. The rummaging noises give way to footsteps, and I know they've got to be coming up the stairs soon. My head swims with nervousness and I fumble around the desk to look for a key, but my shaking fingers knock over a pack of pencils.

The air seems to still. Then, the footsteps pound faster against floor and I do the only thing I can think of.

"Tackle!" I whisper desperately to Milo. He throws himself against the glass of the window and it bursts through, plummeting out of the building. I leap out after him. From experience, I know that the building isn't tall, and I do my best to relax, but it still sends jagged bolts of pain up my legs. Milo lands without much discomfort, though. When I turn around I see the two at the window, their Pokemon perched on the broken windowsill, ready to jump.

I don't know what to do so I just start calling out moves. "Milo, Tackle! Mud-Slap! Growl!"

The mudkip looks at me like I'm stupid and completely ignores my two commands. But he does growl loudly, an intimidating noise that makes me flinch for a moment. It disorients the other two Pokemon for a moment, too, and they cower against their trainers, temporarily subdued. I take note that just because the trainer is violent and confident, it doesn't mean their Pokemon will share the same personality.

We make a run for it. It's the fastest I've ever pushed myself. The pain in my ankles and knees recedes to a dull throb, but I'm not sure if it's actually better, or if it's just the adrenaline numbing the feeling, but either works for me for the time being.

The problem is, I have no clue where I'm going. No one in Pallet ever leaves Pallet until the Cotillion, unless you're a Rocket guard. Fortunately a wooden sign is staked in the ground with the letters 'R...o...u...t...e 1' painfully carved on its surface. It marks the spot where the original path diverges into three more dirty roads, and neither of them looks very appealing. I choose the one on my left, just because I write with my left hand.

"Kipppp..." Milo gasps, when we finally stop. He glares at me in annoyance, and butts my gloved hand. His Pokeball tumbles out. I chuckle a bit; I'd completely forgotten it was even there.

As soon as he finds it though, he loses interest and instead becomes fascinated by my gloves, digging his little teeth into it and shaking his head back and forth. They're surprisingly sharp. I hadn't expected them to be.

"You stupid Pokemon," I mutter, taking the glove off to hand to him. He takes it happily and lets out little growls, not like the intimidating version he'd used earlier. "You think you're a puppy or something. Woof."

Milo looks up at me, mouth hanging open. The glove drops on the ground as he tries to mimic my bark. It ends up sounding like a pidgey warbling off-key and I giggle quietly. "You're so stupid," I repeat.

He ignores me in favor of pouncing on something I can't see.

The grass is completely unkempt, growing out of control with no one to trim it down, and at some parts I can barely see over the top, so Milo melts into it without any effort. He comes back batting at a rattata like a shepherd. If it weren't such a ridiculous sight I'd feel sorry for the rattata, who's stumbling over its tail with mud spattered across its eyes.

"That's just mean," I say in exasperation. He seems to roll his eyes and puts it out of its misery with a tackle.

We continue like that for a little while, him bringing back near-dead young Pokemon, me hoping their parents don't some looking for revenge. As it gets darker, we stumble across a small cave with a Pokeball in it. I put the Pokeball with Milo's in my glove and we hang around it for a little while. I'm too nervous to sleep though, and I keep waking up every five minutes. The grass is long enough that we can't be easily seen, but there's always the chance that someone nearby has something with a sense of smell, or that they'll happen to stumble across us.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬:▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Sometime early in the morning, I am jolted awake by Milo, his fin waving wildly as he tugs on my sleeve and tries to drag me away from the cave.

I glare at him sleepily in annoyance, then realize where I am, and instantly roll onto my feet. We've only gone a few feet when two Pokemon barge through the grass to where we'd been just a minute ago. The elekid and the venipede struggle with each other, the venipede having sunk his mandibles into the elekid's arm. The elekid is an unhealthy shade of purple, and every so often he shudders.

Their trainers arrive shortly after, and I see Landon dragging another boy with glasses to the battle. The boy has a bloody nose, and his right eye looks puffy. The venipede notices its trainer's state and launches itself at Landon, clicking madly.

"Thundershock it, Volt!"

The magenta colored bug shrieks. I can smell the acrid scent of burning flesh.

Landon then turns to the glasses-boy and repeats the command. I shiver. It's an extra level of cruelty to actually harm the Mark, because once the trainer's last Pokemon dies, the Mark dies slowly with it. The elekid looks at him apprehensively for a moment, but when it sees the impatience in his look, promptly lets loose another charge of electricity. Milo cowers beside me, pressing his head into my leg for comfort. My eyes sting and I rub them harshly, finding tears streaking the back of my hand.

Once we've run far enough, I resolve to train Milo, especially since Landon's elekid knows an electric move now. The image of the glasses-boy, his hair singed, skin peeling, burns itself into my mind. I'm terrified, because I don't want to end up like that. I don't want to die.

We start attacking things for real, and Milo starts trying to exhale water with my face as target practice. I don't mind at first and I laugh at him because all he can do is foam a bit at the mouth, but I find out the hard way that he doesn't like being teased after a couple dozen more attempts, when he manages to produce a solid blast of water and completely soaks me.

I know from experience that a wet shirt and windy weather make an ugly child called pneumonia, but I don't have any other clothes, so I just hope it won't be windy tonight.

Milo has the decency to look apologetic as I wring out my hair and my clothes as best as I can. Then he promptly begins to test out his newly learned attack on all the wild Pokemon along the road. I don't think he's mastered it yet, because I read in another professor named Birch's notes that Water Gun is supposed to have a long range but also retain a solid form until it hits its target. Milo's still looks like he's trying to see how far he can spit.

It's nearly sunset when we catch sight of Viridian, far off in the distance. But before I can walk any further, someone stumbles out of the grass behind us. I turn around instinctively, and we lock eyes.

In her eyes I can see my fear, and hers, too. We both back away from each other slowly, hoping that the rule mandating a battle if Marks lock eyes, or at least hoping the Rockets missed our glances. But once I've backed up around ten feet from her, there's a blinding pain that wrenches a scream from my throat. I stumble forward desperately, and my chest stops constricting.

When the bright stars in my vision fade, I see that the other girl's also experienced the same thing. Her brown hair's fallen out of its headband. I close my eyes. I don't want to die.

_Don'tthinkaboutitdon'tthinkaboutitpleasepleaseplea seforgiveme._

"Call out your Pokemon," I say monotonously.

She's shaking, too, but she doesn't want to die either. From her pocket she draws a Pokeball, throws it at the ground, and catches it as it bounces back. A growlithe appears, looking up at its trainer with a wagging tail.

I'm so relieved that for a moment I can't breath again as I call Milo forward.

"E-Ember, Sasha," the girl says, and the tiger-striped puppy exhales small flickers of flames.

The flames lick at Milo's wet skin, barely fazing him. He retaliates with Water Gun without me even asking, knocking Sasha over onto her back. It makes a noise like water dousing a flame, and the growlithe begins to _steam_. Then she starts shivering, making little whines.

I close my eyes and by the time I open them, Sasha's fallen still. The girl with the headband, her eyes are wide with terror as she drops to her knees, and then onto the ground. My pity is mixed with relief. I am a killer but I am alive. I can't stop looking at my hands, even though they're blurry and I can barely see their outlines.

The reason I finally manage to tear my gaze away is because of the overwhelming feeling that I should pay my respects to the girl. As I stand there silently, her name suddenly comes to mind. Nadia from Floaroma, Sinnoh. Nadia.

"Nadia." I nearly choke on the irony of her name. I've just killed hope. Spectacular. There's got to be some sort of karma for that.

Milo pushes his fin against my leg and makes a soft _kiiii_ noise, looking at the town in front of us anxiously. I pick him up and we hurry to Viridian.

* * *

**Remaining Marks: 90**

* * *

**So, critiques? **


End file.
